Vice City: Clerical Work
by Tonnskull
Summary: Don't be put off by the title. Follow Tommy Vercetti's actions to help two corrupt, yet up and coming hotel owners get by in Vice City by any means neccessary. Rated for Violence and Language.
1. Mission: Word of Mouth

Grand Theft Auto: Vice City  
Clerical Work  
  


Authour's Notes: Welcome back to the world of Vice City. Now, let's get on with it. You know most of the backstory here. We open up with Tommy Vercetti having just purchased 1102 Washington Street, and innocent looking apartment building. He has no idea what he has gotten himself into...  
  


Mission I - 'Word of Mouth'  


The camera fades in on Tommy Vercetti striding grandly into the main lobby of 1102 Washington Street, having just purchased the apartment building slash hotel for a meager $3,000. An old woman, looking as if she was nearing her Nineties, hobbles up to Tommy on a cane, followed by a much more attractive young woman carrying a clipboard. Tommy motions for his lone bodyguard to stand guard at the front door.  
  
The old woman approaches Tommy. "Hey! You, son! You a payin' tenant! If you don't pay I suggest you get outta here right now young man," says the woman defiantly, pulling a concealed Colt .45 from the folds of her clothing. The young woman behind her simply rolls her eyes.  
  
"Whoa, whoa. Back off Grandma. I own the damned place now," announces Tommy, looming over the old woman.  
  
"Oh, ho ho ho!" She returns the handgun to it's holster. "In that case, I'm Cassandra Vegas, Ms. Vegas to you, owner of this here place for 14 years." Tommy looks around admirably. "This here is my grand-daughter Alexa."  
  
The young woman smiles rather sarcastically at Tommy, getting a nonchalant wink in return.  
  
Ms. Vegas has started off across the lobby to a frosted-glass windowed office. "Ah, come on boy! You're just the kinda guy I need!"  
  
Tommy begins walking after Ms. Vegas. "I hope she didn't mean that in the way I thought she meant that," says Tommy.  
  
"Oh, with Nana I can never tell myself," says Alexa with a smile.  
  
"Sounds like a great person to work for."  
  
Alexa and Tommy enter the office. The door shuts with a click.  
  
"Here, here, have a seat," says Ms. Vegas, motioning to a chair in front of the desk she is sitting at. Tommy declines.  
  
"I said have a Goddamned seat!"  
  
Tommy quickly takes to a chair. He strangely notes that the rooms smells like Rosenberg's office.  
  
"Al'right Tommy. We've had less and less people comin' in every month since a few while back. Now, I reckon it's to blame of this prick who works on the radio, Jonathan Free-somethin', I dunno. Now anyway, I need you to go over ta' where he lives, over on Starfish Island, and scare the BEJESUS outta him! OK, so I want 'cha to get two cars and blow 'em up right out side his fancy-ass mansion--"  
  
Alexa interrupts. "Nana!"  
  
"What did I tell you about interrupttin' me!? Anyway, sorry 'bout her Tommo, she's a crazy bitch."  
  
Alexa simply rolls her eyes yet again and makes a note on her clipboard.  
  
"Anyway, yes, get two cars from his neighbours houses and blow 'em up right outside-a his house. And leave this on his door." Ms. Vegas hands Tommy a slip on paper. "He won't mess with us again."  
  
Tommy exits the office, taking one last confused glance at the crazy old woman going through a fit of maniacal laughter behind him.  
  
"Crazy grandma. Wonder what she's smokin'," he mutters.  
  


The cars are easy for Tommy to find. A nice Infernus and a stylish Comet, both parked outside of Freeloader's front door.  
  
"Ah, yes, now for the fun part." Tommy pulls a concealed SPAS .12 shotgun out and points it at the gasoline tank of the Infernus. "Wake up call, Mister Freeloader!" With one shot of the SPAS, the gas tank is punctured and the Infernus goes up in a plume of spiraling fire.  
  
A security officer spots Tommy. "Hey! You!" The officer starts towards Tommy, but is thrown backwards by the force of the Comet exploding. Tommy puts the SPAS away and strides over to Freeloaders front door, taking out a hammer and nail to tack the note to the door. Once the nail is in place, the hammer comes back, the door opens, Freeloader appears in the doorway, and, with a sickening crack, the hammer makes contact with Freeloader's skull. The radio personality drops to the the floor, unconscious.  
  
Tommy laughs. "Sorry Jon, I couldn't resist."   
  
The sound of a shotgun being cocked behind Tommys head.   
  
"Vice! Freeze!" booms a voice from behind.  
  
"Damn F.B.I."  
  
Tommy drops his weapon and begins to turn around.   
  
The sound of rotor blades. Prop wash blinds the F.B.I. agents. The sound of an assault rifle. Seconds later the F.B.I. agents are on the ground, face down, dead. A man with a black suit and combed-over hair in the helicopter signals for Tommy as he pulls a rocket launcher from somewhere in the chopper. Tommy nod's and dashes over, taking hold of the struts and pulling himself in. The man fires a rocket into the F.B.I.'s Cheetah, which disappears instantly into flame. The helicopter gains altitude and pulls away from Starfish Island.  
  
The man sighs and takes a seat. "Yes, yes, sit." He speaks with a deep Italian accent.  
  
"What the Hell was that? Who the Hell are you?" inquires Tommy, right off the bat.  
  
"Slow down, son. The name is Roberto Combelli. The rest will come in time." Combelli looks out the window to see the multicoloured spire of 1102 Washington Street approaching. "This is your stop, yes?"  
  
Tommy nods in bewilderment.  
  
"Put it down, Hans. Our man needs to get off."  
  
The chopper lands softly directly in the middle of Washington Street. A woman in a red Hermes screams, "Get that shit out the sidewalk!"  
  
Tommy hops from the helicopter and makes his way off towards 1102. Combelli shouts from behind him, "Screw you, crazy bitch!"  
  
The sound of rotor blades picks up again. Combelli: "Nice meeting you, Thomas!"  
  
"Can't say the same for you," says Tommy with a laugh as he walks into the building.  
  


Mission Complete!  


  



	2. Mission: Catering

Grand Theft Auto: Vice City  
Clerical Work  
  
Authour's Notes: Now, I bring you the second chapter in the Clerical Work series. Not much more to say other than that. On with the story...  
  
Mission II - 'Catering'  
Early morning sunlight reflects grandly off of the polished faux-marble floors of 1102 Washington Street's lobby. Tommy Vercetti, owner and proprieter of the establishment, pushes the main door open and crosses the open space. A large hairy man in a purple jumpsuit passes by him and whistles. "Hey, nice ass."  
  
Tommy responds with a middle finger.  
  
Vercetti approaches an inconspicuous frosted-glass door on the far side of the lobby, rapping on it three times. It is opened promptly by a young, auburn haired woman wearing buisness attire and a fake smile.  
  
"Good morning, Alexa," yawns Tommy.  
  
Alexa drops her smile and walks back into the room, taking a seat at an oak desk in the centre of the room. "Hello, Mr. Vercetti," she says boredly, noting something on the clipboard she never puts down.  
  
Tommy follows her into the room. "Well aren't you glad to see me?" he remarks sarcastically. "Anyway, I got a call from Miss Whats-Her-Name... Vegetable or something." He takes a seat.  
  
Alexa looks up from the desk, giving Tommy a quick glance of resentment before falling back into her more professional manner. "Ah, yes, well, Ms. Vegas isn't here now... She's off doing..." Alexa motions to a locked, steel door set into the back wall of the room. "Buisness."  
  
Tommy laughs. "I see," he remarks, picking up a glass of water from the desk and taking a generous swig.  
  
"Anyway," continues Alexa, with a smile, "She left you a note."  
  
"And?"  
  
"It says, 'Hey useless, that was some pretty good shit you did back there. Anyway, the VC Mamba's are flying in and we ordered some serious lobsters from Cafe Under the Tree. Only their goddamned van broke. Go and get it.' Oh, Nana..."  
  
"Can do. But, who in the hell are the Mamba's?" asks Tommy, reluctantly standing up and heading for the door.  
  
"Beyond me."  
  
"Okay... Well, see you around, clueless!" laughs Tommy, closing the frosted glass door with a conversation ending 'click.'  
  
In the lobby, an old woman behind the check-in desk calls at Tommy, "Hey, hot stuff!"  
  
Tommy nearly trips over himself. "This place is full of grannies on coke and people missing half their brains. What have I gotten into?"  
  
Here are your Mission Objectives: You have five minutes to get to Cafe Under the Tree and back. Simple, but it's a little more interesting if you read on into the fic.  
  
Tommy's Comet is waiting patiently on the curb of 1102 Washington Street. Vercetti vaults over the drivers-side door and drops his foot onto the pedal, tuning the radio. He mutters along with the station, "Who needs music with soul, we've got drum machines!" He is interuptted by the chiming of his bulky cell phone. Tommy sighs and answers it.  
  
"Tommy Vercetti."  
  
A woman with a thick Jamaican accent speaks into the other end of the line. She sounds to be in her early fourties. "Ah, yes, this is Tommy Vercetti?"  
  
"I believe I just said that."  
  
"Okay, okay. I'd just like to tell you that we have your foodstuffs. Only, there is strange Italian man by the name of Romferto -- or something -- here for you. He say he have very important message for you."  
  
Roberto Combelli. That strange man from the helicopter. "What'd he say?!" blurts out Tommy, narrowly passing between a Cheetah and a lightpost.  
  
"I am not your messenger!" The conversation ends with a click.  
  
"Geez, is everyone in this town sniffing?" says Tommy, tossing his cellular phone into the passenger seat.  
  
Twently minutes later, the blue Comet pulls up to a blue building situated under a pair of trees in Little Haiti. Tommy walks in. The air is thick, hot and smelling of strong coffee. The cafe is near empty at 9 AM, save for a young Haitian couple and Roberto Combelli sitting in a back booth, sipping black coffee. Combelli notices Tommy standing in the doorway, holding his nose.  
  
"Ah! Thomas!" Roberto strides over to Tommy and pats in on the shoulder, leading him to his booth.  
  
Tommy exhales deeply and takes a seat. "So, what's this 'information' that I've been hearing about?"  
  
"Yes. Thomas, this is dirty buisness, very dirty buisness unfolding." Roberto takes a sip of his coffee. "I have just overheard a group of Haitian gangsters talking of plans to 'put Washington Street out of buisness.' See, it turns out, Thomas that--"  
  
They are interuptted by a large Jamaican woman approaching their table. Tommy recognises her voice from the phone call earlier. "Hallo young man! Can old Miss Cleoa get you anything?"  
  
Tommy waves her away. "Yeah, get me the food I ordered!"   
  
"Yes sir. I'll go get that."  
  
Roberto continues. "As I was saying, it turns that Ms.Vegas, the manager of one-one-zero-two, is dealing drugs for bargain prices in the underground parking structures. The Haitians would rather this not happen. They then set out for East Vice City. I have no other informations than this." Combelli takes yet another sip of coffee.  
  
"Thanks Roberto, I'll keep that in mind."  
  
"Good day, Thomas."  
  
Miss Cleoa has re-emerged, carrying three large canvas bags. "Here is the food you ordered, sonny!"  
  
Tommy takes the bags and walks outside again, grateful for the cool outside air. However, he finds that some young gangster is trying to break the lock of his Comet. Tommy sighs and puts the bags down, drawing out a concealed Mac-10 sub-machine gun and aims it at the boy.  
  
"Hey, stupid!"  
  
"Yeah?" replies the gangster.  
  
"The top is down," remarks Tommy, gesturing to the folds of cloth and metal at the back of the car.  
  
"So?"  
  
Tommy rolls his eyes and puts a bullet into the gangster's left leg. "Get lost, prick."  
  
"Oh my God! You fucking shot me you fucking fuck!"  
  
Tommy picks up the bags, tosses them into the car, and starts off across the Leaf Bridge. Another twenty minutes and the car has pulled up outside the multi-coloured entranceway of 1102 Washington Street. Alexa waits outside, looking displeased. She follows Tommy through the doors as he passes her.  
  
"Where in the Hell have you been!? Do you have the food!?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I got your food." Tommy tosses one bag to the young woman, causing her to stumble. "And I've got some information you might want to pass on to your neurotic grandmother..."  
  
Mission Complete!  
  
Authour's Notes: As you can see, the story really is beginning to progress! Sorry if you hate long chapters, but I love them. =) Anyway, that's all for now. Tune in next time!  



	3. Mission: Boarding Call

Grand Theft Auto: Vice City  
Clerical Work  


  
Authour's Notes: I realise I may have left some of you hanging with the ending off the last chapter. It was a tad abrupt. So, I will treat you with the next chapter. There is some actual action in this one! For all you action addicts out there, I suppose. Also, I've done away with the Mission Objectives. They seem too obtrusive on the plot. Anyway, on with the story.   
  


Mission III - 'Boarding Call'  


The outdoor lights of 1102 Washington Street flicker on as they do every night, on cue, at 11:20 PM. The neon red and green colours illuminate Tommy Vercetti's tired face as he passes through the front doors.  
  
Most of the hotel is vacant and quiet, save for the noise coming from a bar, set off to the side. Tommy, as usual, drags his feet over to the frosted glass office door, which is has strangely been left open. Tommy is bathed in flourescent light upon walking in. Alexa is already waiting in a spindly chair, looking rather impatient, per usual.  
  
Tommy runs a hand through his hair as he takes the regular seat. "What the Hell is so urgent that you drag me out of bed at friggin' eleven 'o clock at night?"  
  
"There are alot of things that urgent, Mr. Vercetti," she says, standing up. "You just don't give a damn about most of them. But I think this may concern you. Nana will be in to see you in a second. Would you like a cup of coffee?"  
  
Tommy declines with a hand gesture. At this moment, Ms. Cassandra Vegas bursts through the steel bulkhead at the back of the room, unusually nimble.  
  
"Take the damn coffee, boy. You're gonna need it," she says hurridly. Tommy rolls his eyes. Alexa nods and disappears from the doorway.  
  
Tommy brings his fist down onto the oak desk. "Okay Grandma. What the Hell is so Goddamned important?!"  
  
"It's the Haitians, Tommo. The damn Haitians. They raided the building about an hour ago. Stole some payrole documents from Accounting. Now, lets just say that a buisness woman has to do what she needs to keep the buisness running. I've been paying certain employees 'under the table,' if you know what I mean."  
  
Tommy nods. "So that's what Roberto was talking about."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"No one."  
  
"Well, anyway, okay, so, they took the stuff. From what our security guard overheard -- the one that lived -- they're shipping 'em on a barge for San Fierra and the Decent Buisness Inquiry Board. Damn pricks'll get us shut down."  
  
"So let me guess. I have to go stop the barge and get the docs back. Yeah, heard it a thousand times before..."  
  
"No. I want them blow to Hell! Get a car, rig a bomb in the thing, and BLOW THE SHITHEADS TO PIECES!" Ms. Vegas lapses into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.  
  
Tommy stands up quickly, knocking the chair to the floor and storming by Alexa who has just reappeared in the doorway.  
  
"Oh!" she exclaims. "Mr. Vercetti! I have your coffee!"  
  
Tommy doesn't turn around as he makes a beeline to the door. "Sorry, no time. Maybe next time honey." He exits.  
  
"Goddamned pricks. Can't take care of themselves," mutters Tommy to himself.  
  
He notes the approaching Mesa Grande and puts on a show of flagging it down. The driver stops immediatly and gets out of his vehicle.  
  
"What's the matter man!? You okay!?" yells the man, with an obvious show of concern.  
  
"I am," Tommy begins, withdrawing his Mac-10. "But you won't be for long."  
  
"Shit!"  
  
The man's expression goes blank. He drops to the pavement. Tommy hops into the driver's seat and crosses the Leaf Bridge. From there he heads south into Viceport, and into the bomb shop. He puts a few hundred dollar bills into a machine, which promptly extends an arm under the vehicle. With a reassuring 'clunk,' the bomb is put into place.  
  
Tommy then drives the vehicle through utter darkness to the cargo ship, which remains strangely unguarded. Vercetti parks the car near a container marked: "HAITI SAN FIERRA FOR IMMEDIATE DEPARTURE INTERNAL DOCU."  
  
"Could they have made it anymore obvious?" he chuckles, getting a safe distance away from the car. "Well, here goes nothing." He ducks away and presses the button on the remote detonator. Nothing. He presses it again. Nothing yet again. "Piece of shit!" He throws the detonator into the sea and ducks under the vehicle.  
  
The bomb reads: FOR MANUAL DETONATION: TURN SWITCH. Tommy does so. A red LED timer appears on the face of the explosive and ticks down from eight.  
  
"Crap! Eight seconds!" With that, Tommy makes a run for his life. He makes a courner around a container marked: EXPLOSIVES: 100 KG. Six seconds. The gangway off the ship is now in view. Five seconds. Halfway there. Four seconds. Tommy's foot hits the aluminum. Three seconds. Two. One.  
  
Zero. The containers behind Tommy turn to flame. The resonant shockwave blasts through support posts and the like as the explosives filled container explodes. The blast is enough to knock Tommy off of his feet.  
  
The explosion does not go unnoticed. Ship security immediatly calls in the S.W.A.T. team before opening fire on Tommy with Colt .45's.   
  
"Shit! You badge wearing fruit!" Tommy runs to the Boatyard to seek shelter. From here, he witnesses three fishermen on a Rio spot him and head off to East Vice City -- and most likely, the police.  
  
Tommy runs from his shelter to the Squalo speedboat parked at the dock. Almost immidiatly, a hail of gunfire from a V.C.P.D. helicopter ignites around him.  
  
"This is Vice City S.W.A.T! You are completely surrounded. Drop your weapons and surrender!"  
  
"Like hell I will!" Tommy flips the chopper off while retrieving an M60 assault rifle from the boathouse. He fires three -- four shots at the chopper's rotor blades. The helicopter begins to lose control. Tommy drops his rifle and makes a beeline for the Squalo.  
  
The speedboat has no trouble catching up with the slower Rio. Once parallel, Tommy takes the driver and his passengers out with three shots from a Colt Python. Then, picking up the rocket launcher stored on board, he turns the boat into a floating mass of twisted steel. With a sigh, he takes a seat in the boat.  
  
Then, startlingly, his mobile phone rings. Reluctantly, he answers it. It's Alexa on the other end of the line.  
  
"Tommy, Tommy, thank God you answered."  
  
"What's up. You sound stressed."  
  
"I am damn stressed Tommy. Get back to the hotel now, we've a major situation."  
  
Click.  
  
Mission Complete!  
  
Authour's Notes: We are basically reaching the climax of the story. Well, the climax of the hypothetical 'Act I.' I like to think it peaks when this chapter leaves off and when the next one picks up. Have I whetted your appetite? Are you on the edge of your seat? No? Oh well. Tune in next time!  



	4. Mission: When The Saints Come Marchin In

Grand Theft Auto: Vice City  
Clerical Work  
  
Authour's Notes: It's been a while. A long while. But this has been my most successful fic ever, and after rediscovering my book in which I had laid out the plot, I decided to come back and write Chapter 4. I won't make any more excuses, and get on to the long awaited fourth installment.  
  
Mission IV - When the Saints Come Marching In...  
Tommy Vercetti was not a happy man.  
  
He's been dealing with the S.W.A.T. team, large amounts of explosives, bad drivers, and an old woman on coke who thinks she owns him. Now, a "board meeting" had been called by grandma herself, Cassandra Vegas.  
  
Vercetti walks into the top floor board room scowling and muttering something to himself. The plush carpets under his feet were too cushy, everyone in the room looked too worried, and the situation he was in was getting worse by the second. He takes a seat beside Alexa Vegas, who promptly jumps into secretary mode.  
  
"Alright Tommy, we've definitely got a situation, you know, we've got some problems and, oh, thank God we have you, I mean--"  
  
Tommy silences the annoying young woman with a single hand motion. It would seem that his reputation preceded him.  
  
Cassandra Vegas walked into the room.  
  
"Okay everybody. We've got problems -- really big problems -- Everest sized problems -- elephant shit sized problems -- prob--"  
  
"Nana! Get to the point!"  
  
Tommy rolled his eyes, prompting a glare from the elder Vegas before she continued. "Okay. Well, it would seem that the Haitians aren't the happiest that we blew their boat back there. They've been looking for a way to get back at us."  
  
A short, pudgy man spoke up. "Surely there's no way that WE'RE associated with this?"  
  
Cassandra sighed. "You prick, why else would I call this meeting? Anyway -- it's no secret that I, uh, partake in the, uh, narcotics business. So--"  
  
"What?!" Same short man. "Narcotics?! I'm gettin' outta here!" He leapt from his seat and flew from the room like a man possessed,  
  
"You people don't know about this?!"  
  
Confused grunts and mutters from the board.  
  
"Oh shit... Here's the bottom line: The Haitians have a deal with the cops. They're coming here to bust a cap in all of your asses."  
  
Utter chaos erupted throughout the room.  
  
Amongst the mess, Alexa managed to catch up with Tommy.  
  
"Surely you're getting out of here?!" she cried.  
  
"Hell no," he said with a smirk, loading a clip into his Mac-10.  
  
Her eyes widened upon setting her sights upon the weapon. "You aren't..."  
  
"Why wouldn't I?" he laughed, and ran out the door.  
  
Tommy Vercetti doesn't like elevators. In this case, however, he thought it'd be more efficient to take one than running down fifty-plus flights of stairs. He assumed wrong. The elevator got stuck at around floor ten. After what could be described as several minutes of infuriated button-smashing on the console, the elevator jerked and dropped the last five or so floors, landing in the lobby with a hearty crash. The desk attendant, obviously not shaken by the gunshots emanating from the outside or the smash of a several ton elevator rig crashing down, could only roll her eyes.  
  
"Don't you know how to work a lift?!" she screeched in Tommys general direction.  
  
"Hey, screw you lady! This is just an, uh, minor inconvenience."  
  
And with these words, Tommy marched to the front of the foyer, threw the door open, and (in the most dramatic and cocky pose possible), drew his weapon and...  
  
Was shot in the leg.  
  
The pain caused him to tumble backwards through the frosted glass doors, somehow managing to not get hit by any of the seemingly hundreds of bullets flying from the outside congregation.  
  
"Bastards!!"  
  
The same old receptionist sighed. "So you can't deal with a huge mass of Haitians and cops either?! Jesus Christ, kids these days!" She collected her things and stormed out the door to her left.  
  
"Is everyone who works here a bitch?!" he called, obviously hoping she would hear.  
  
The gunfire outside grew in its intensity, and in an explosion of glass and metal, an airborne metallic-red convertible, piloted by none other than Cassandra Vegas, erupted into the lobby.  
  
"God damnit, bitchy old ladies, bullets in the legs, exploding windows-- what the Hell is going on?!!"  
  
Cassandra rolled her eyes, moving over into the passengers seat, with Alexa sitting in back. "Will you stop whining and drive the damn car?"  
  
Bleeding leg and all, Tommy clamoured into the vehicle and, using one good leg, pummled the car through the doors and into a hail of a thousand bullets.  
  
Mission Complete!  
  
Authours Note: Well, it's a cliffhanger, but that's how you keep your readers. Chapter was a little short, but I promise to update sooner this time.  



	5. Mission: Escobar

Grand Theft Auto: Vice City

Clerical Work

Authour's Notes: Yay. We've finally come to the climactic chase scene! I don't have much to comment on here, so I won't dawdle. On to Chapter Five!

Mission V: Escobar

The car flew over the heads of policemen and gang members, Voodoo lowriders and police cars, before coming to a screeching halt across the street. The congregation of aggressors stood in shock for a moment, covered in glass and dust, before opening fire once more. Tommy wasted no time in twirling the car around one hundred eighty degrees and heading up the street. The tyres of the vehicle skidded around the pavement for a moment before sufficient friction set in, and the car set off.

"What are you doing!" screamed Cassandra, directly into Tommy's right ear. "The shortest way to the airport is south!"

"Do you think I'm stupid, grandma! The South Bridge is almost certainly blocked off! We'll have to head north first and hope the pigs don't catch on."

A pair of police cars and a Voodoo erupted from around a corner at that moment, forcing Tommy to yank the steering wheel to the right. The car caught an embankment and left the pavement for a moment before crashing down perpendicular to the road.

"Eat my shit!" hollered Tommy, whipping out his Mac-10 and pumping a few rounds through the windscreen of one of the police cars.

"You'll only get us in more trouble!" Alexa had been silent up until this point, hiding on the floor. She obviously wan't happy with the idea of shooting off police officer's heads.

"I've seen much worse honey," he retorted, slamming the car across a bridge and up toward the Malibu.

"It's a straight shot from here," instructed the elder Vegas.

"You don't think I know tha-- Gah!"

A sky-blue Cheetah with a flashing red light on the dash had cut them off, and once again Tommy had to swerve. This time he headed around the WK Chariot and on to Ocean Beach. A hail of bullets was beginning to come down on them now from an FBI member leaning out the passenger window of the offending Cheetah.

"I'll lose 'em."

Tommy engaged the handbrake and pulled the car to the left, making a complete three-sixty and throwing the FBI off enough that they headed straight at the ocean, buying them some time.

"You said the airport?" asked Tommy, slamming on the gas again and headed up the beach.

"Yeah, yeah, airport. I have a VIP pass on Vice Air and a 9mm in my pocket. We'll be able to get right on the next flight--"

Her statement was cut off by two bullets shattering the windscreen of the red convertible.

"--besides! They'd never try shit like this in the airport."

Tommy skidded the car back into the street, making a taxi cab careen into a pick-up, which in turn plowed through the windows of the mall.

"Damn it all! Besides, what do you expect me to do, granny?"

"I don't know, and I don't give a damn!"

"Bitch!"

A thumping, whirring sound entered the collective eardrums of the three passengers.

"Floor it Tommy, they got choppers!"

"Choppers... That's it! I'm going to swing by Starfish Island first."

"Swing by? Swing by!"

"I have an idea."

For now, though, they'd have to deal with a hail of ammunition coming from the pair of pursuing helicopters. Tommy employed an "evasive tactic." he called it, which consisted of swerving back and forth and ramming everyone off the road. He turned onto the highway.

"No no no, dumbshit!"

"What! Highway equals fast!"

"They'll have spike--"

A cannon-like popping noise.

"--strips."

If not for Tommy's driving "skills," they would have most certainly been thrown into the sea, but he managed to maintain some sort of control over the car and slide it into the parking area of his Starfish Island mansion.

"I have a helicopter up top."

Alexa's eyes widened, and she spoke up for only the second time. "So you almost get us killed on the road, total my car, and now you want to FLY!"

A short pause, broken by MP-5 gunfire.

Tommy grabbed Alexa and pulled her up the stairs. "In here!"

"What is this, 'Rocky'!" exclaimed Alexa.

A long and arduous (for Cassandra, anyway) climb up the stairs within the old Diaz mansion ensued before they finally reached the top. Tommy emerged into the blinding Floridian sunlight, heaving a tired old lady behind him, and mildy annoyed by the burning salt spray being tossed into his eyes. He was even more annoyed, however, that four SWAT had just dropped from the police chopper above. The men raised their submachineguns at Tommy and motioned for him to get on the ground.

Tommy stood there, brooding. This day had gone from bad, to worse, and now it was just plain shitty.

"Like Hell!" he screamed, pulling a rocket launcher from inside an oil barrel on the roof and launching a shell at the offending helicopter. The rocket punctured the fiberglass shell easily, detonating in a firey cloud which expelled debris in all directions. This distracted the SWAT enough to let Tommy pop two of them in the head with the Mac 10 and shove another off the room, after which he fell with a sickening crunch.

The final SWAT was left hanging on the nose of the helicopter, which most certainly did not please Mr. Vercetti at all. As the Vegas' strapped themselves in, Tommy pushed the throttle up and jammed on the right side rudder pedal. This sent the chopper into a chaotic (but controlled) spin, throwing the officer off via centrifugal force.

"Alright ladies, hope you're ready." With that, he pushed the controll column forward and sped off toward Escobar International. This was not the end of their problems, however.

The second police helicopter was behind them, and gaining. Tommy pulled yet another SMG from under the pilots seat and tossed it back to Alexa, who deftly half-caught it on her lap.

"Know how to work a Tec 9?"

"Uh... K-kinda?"

"Take out the pricks following us."

He shoved the control column over, allowing Alexa a clear shot. They had only one chance at this, the VCPD chopper was on a collision course.

Alexa let loose with a couple of short bursts of gunfire. The first grazed the fiberglass, but the second crashed through the windscreen, effectively eradicating the pilots effectiveness. The heli tipped off to the left, suddenly, throwing the gunner out and sending the chopper into the sparkling blue seas below.

Cassandra whooped. "Oh yeah! Kick ass! You're just like me with a gun!"

Alexa almost threw the gun out the window in disgust. "Oh dear..."

Tommy couldn't help but laugh. He could see a procession of police cars beneath them. They wouldn't let him set down in front of the airport, they'd be all over him like white on rice.

"You girls up for a little ride?"

Two responses at once. "Fuck yeah!" and "Oh God please...!"

Regardless, Tommy dropped the altitude of the chopper and sped over to the airport. The motioned for Alexa to hand him the gun.

SMG in hand, he leaned out the window and emptied two clips on Escobar's glass facade.

"Plan B," he said with a smirk.

With those penultimate words, he turned the blades of the helicopter forward and plunged right into Escobar International Airport.

Mission Complete!

Author's Notes: The end. Hope you enjoyed it!


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